


Lines

by tardisjournal



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Discipline, Dom!Jack, Episode: s02e11 Adrift, Games Jack and Ianto Play, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto gets called on the carpet for a serious transgression. Jack has an extremely unconventional approach to discipline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: References to S1.11--"Adrift"
> 
> Completed January 21, 2012

"Do you know why I called you in here, Ianto?"

Ianto resisted the urge to shift his weight from foot to foot and instead stood stiffly in front of Jack's desk, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall beyond his boss's head. He didn't know, but he could tell by Jack's stern tone that it was not going to be good. "I'm guessing it's not about a raise?"

Jack slammed his fist down on the desk.

"A raise! After what you did? You're lucky to still be employed!"

 _'So much for trying to lighten the mood,'_ Ianto thought. He swallowed hard and racked his brain for what he might have done now. There had been that incident with the medical equipment, but that had hardly been his fault...

"The fact that you seem to have no idea what you've done only makes it worse," Jack continued, now sounding disappointed as well as angry.

 _Disappointed._ Ianto paled. He really hadn't thought that incident had been worth mentioning to Jack, and so he hadn't, but...

"You really can't think of anything?" Jack's tone was deceptively calm now, and that was worse, because it carried not only menace but also the promise of redemption if the right answer were given. It was a tone designed to get the guilty to confess. It was a tone that Ianto had never been able to stand up to for long.

"If you're referring to the equipment that Owen requisitioned that's a fortnight late, I've already explained to him that it's on back-order. He seemed fine with that. Well, eventually," he replied promptly. "You see, there's only one supplier in the U.K. and..."

"It's not about any damn equipment!"

Ianto blinked.

"Then... then what, sir?" Ianto was starting to feel flustered, but had the presence of mind to slip in the honorific that they'd all but lost in their daily interactions. Sometimes it helped when Jack was in a mood.

"Let me jog your memory. Does the name Flat Holm ring any bells?"

 _'Flat Holm? Seriously?'_ Ianto knew better than to voice that thought. Instead he stuck to the facts. "The secret medical facility Torchwood maintains for victims of the Rift, sir." Now he had an idea where Jack was coming from, but it didn't make sense.

"Correct. The operative word being _secret_ , Ianto. Which it would have stayed, if you hadn't turned privileged information over to Gwen."

 _'Now? Jack's getting angry about this NOW?'_ "We discussed this sir," Ianto said, jaw working in an effort to stay composed. "Both in the post-mortem we did as a team and in private. I explained why I did it and you agreed--finally--that it was all for the best."

"Well it wasn't," Jack hissed, shoving his chair back with a sharp squeal of metal wheels on hard floor. He stood, then came around the side and advanced on Ianto. It took a great deal of self-restraint on Ianto's part not to step back.

"You went behind my back, Ianto. Disobeyed direct orders. Betrayed my trust." Jack was so close Ianto could feel the energy radiating off him--a heady combination of angry heat, and those damnably arousing Fifty-First Century pheromones that over a year of close contact had done nothing to make Ianto immune from. 

Ianto trembled inwardly but kept his eyes fixed forward. Frankly, he had been expecting something like this--right after it all came out. A blow-up, angry recriminations, some sort of official disciplinary action taken against him, even. But Jack, in that infuriating way he had of turning all forgiving and charming when you least expected it, had done so on that occasion as well.

Ianto had had the idea at the time that Jack was grateful not to have to carry the terrible burden of that secret alone anymore, though of course he would never admit it. No longer would Jack have to make those mysterious trips on his own that he had always returned from looking sad and weary and pushing everyone away, for Gwen had offered to go with him, or even in his stead sometimes. He had said he'd consider it.

It had been much the same when Jack and Ianto were alone for the first time after it all had hit the fan. They had discussed the issue of Ianto's little slight-of-hand with the GPS with a surprising lack of fireworks, and Ianto really had believed that the matter was settled. That everything was fine.

Apparently not.

 

Jack paused to let Ianto fidget for awhile (except Ianto rarely indulged in fidgeting, and he didn't this time either beyond opening and closing his hands at his sides) and then finally asked, in a voice pitched an octave lower than usual, "Do you know what I'm going to do now?"

Ianto shivered as Jack's hot breath brushed his ear and looked at the floor. "No, sir."

Would Jack suspend him again? Beat the crap out of him? The thunderous expression on Jack's face suggested that the latter was not out of the realm of possibility.

"I'm going to put a disciplinary note in your personnel file."

Ianto turned his head and gaped at Jack. Then he tried not to laugh. The mild threat was so incongruous with what his fevered imagination had been picturing that at first Ianto thought he must have misheard.

The personnel files? No one ever looked at those except the members of Torchwood Three themselves and any such note would hardly be shocking news. They'd _been there_ , after all.

"You have to do as you see fit, sir," Ianto said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. 

"But that's not all." Jack stepped forward and gripped Ianto's shoulder, hard.

"It's not?" Ianto could keep his expression neutral, but he couldn't keep the consternation out of his eyes, which slid to Jack and then back down to the ground again.

"No. It's not."

Jack let silence fall again, this time long enough for Ianto to review every dire possibility he'd thought of before, and add some new ones to the list. The silence stretched on so long Ianto wondered if Jack was waiting for him to _ask_ what he intended to do.

Was he supposed to ask? Should he ask? He hadn't thought so, but then Jack was an expert at wrong-footing people; keeping them second-guessing and third-guessing until they just caved and did whatever he wanted. Jack's furious, imperious expression gave no clue, so Ianto bit his lip and waited. His shoulder ached where Jack's fingers still dug in.

And suddenly, Jack's angry facade fell and he smiled beatifically at Ianto. And winked.

Ianto took a deep breath and let it out. This was a game, then. Or something close enough to one that he knew this wasn't a Torchwood issue anymore (and probably never had been).

Well. That changed things a bit.

If it had been a Torchwood issue, Jack was the ultimate authority and had the final say over Ianto's fate. Since it was a game, well, Jack was still the ultimate authority (at least in this game), but Ianto knew that their usual safeguards would apply, including the agreed-upon word that he could use to stop things if they got to be too much. (He'd never had to use it, though he'd come within a hair's breadth of doing so a few times. Sometimes his limits surprised even him.)

"Ah," Ianto said, and gave one quick nod.

Consent.

Jack snapped back into barely-controlled-fury mode.

"You see, Ianto," he said, voice pitched so low now it sent tingles down Ianto's spine, "I'm going to attach something to that file. Something that you're going to write."

"Sir?" This was getting stranger by the minute, but Ianto thought he'd better play along and act contrite. "I mean, yes sir." He hung his head.

"Do you know what that will be?"

"No idea, sir,"

Jack grinned and there was no warmth in it. It was more like an animal baring its teeth.

 _'He's really good at this,'_ Ianto reflected absently, feeling his anxiety ratchet up another level despite himself.

Jack's hand moved from Ianto's shoulder to his upper arm and he yanked the younger man to a corner of the office, where a little desk, Victorian by the look of it, and matching chair were set up.

"Lines, Ianto. You're going to write 500 times in that perfect Catholic-schoolboy handwriting of yours, "I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again." And if you make a mistake you'll start over."

 _'Actually my family is Anglican and really that was just my mum,'_ Ianto clarified mentally. However, he did have perfect handwriting, and he and Jack had never much discussed religion ("superstition" as Jack called it), so he supposed Jack could be excused for making that mistake. Besides, he was in enough trouble as it was without backchat.

"Lines, sir. I understand."

Well, not entirely. He understood what he was meant to do, but he didn't understand what Jack was getting out of it. Did the Captain have some master/schoolboy kink that Ianto hadn't known about? If so, it'd be easy enough to humor him. It seemed rather tame for Jack, though.

Ianto moved to the desk.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Ianto stopped. "Yes, sir?"

"Strip. You're going to write them naked." Ianto's heart skipped a beat or two and he closed his eyes.

THAT sounded more like Jack.

 

The Captain returned to his chair. He settled in, folded his hands behind his head, and watched Ianto, a smile playing about his lips.

Ianto took another deep breath and turned to face Jack. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, but it never seemed to get any easier. He had no problem with nudity _per se,_ but being naked in the presence of clothed person never failed to be humiliating. The fact that it was in Jack's office, a place of business, violated Ianto's deep-seated sense of propriety and made it that much worse. And, strangely enough, that much more of a turn-on.

_'And even though it's technically after-hours, anyone could come walking in any time and--stop thinking about that!'_

He could feel the flush climbing his neck as he loosened his tie. Some crazy instinct made him want to stall for time, but he knew that would only prolong the discomfort for him. Hell would freeze over before Jack changed his mind, so there was no point in stalling, was there?

Still, it seemed to take ages to divest himself of his shirt and waistcoat. _'Probably if my hands weren't shaking (from excitement? trepidation? pheromones?) this would work better...'_ Ianto folded the garments loosely and placed them on the edge of Jack's desk, then, relieved to have an excuse not to look in Jack's direction, glanced down to undo his belt buckle. He could feel Jack's eyes boring into him and suppressed a shiver.

"Stop dawdling," Jack ordered. "Those lines aren't going to write themselves."

 _'I wasn't,'_ Ianto protested mentally. But all he said was, "Yes, sir," and undid his belt, trouser buttons and zip with a flurry of flying fingers. He slid his trousers and boxers down in one move, stepped out of them, then dropped to the floor to tug off his shoes and socks.

The Hub air was cool and damp on his skin and now that he was _au naturel_ he was really glad he didn't have to look at Jack.

Ianto busied himself making a neat pile of his clothes and then rose. As if the situation wasn't mortifying enough, it was painfully obvious to him and surely would be to Jack that he was getting aroused.

Ianto sighed, then leaned forward and added the rest of his clothes to the pile on Jack's desk. A quick glance at Jack from under his eyelashes brought a jerk of Jack's head in the direction of the little desk in return.

Ianto stepped over to the desk, which looked like it might have been around since Torchwood was founded in 1879, and pulled out the rickety-looking little chair with care.

 _'If I get splinters in my arse I'm never going to forgive him.'_ Ianto sat down gingerly, half-expecting the thing to collapse under him, and got settled as best he could. It was obvious that he'd never get his knees under that tiny desk, so he scooted as close to it as he could and turned his attention to the items in front of him.

There was a glass inkwell, half-full of black ink, and a quill pen that might once have been white but now was a dingy gray. There was also a stack of vintage cream-colored Torchwood stationery that had faded to colorless around the edges. Feeling self-conscious, Ianto slid a piece of parchment toward him, picked up the quill, and dipped it in the ink.

Writing with a quill is an art form, but it was one that Ianto, who had a love for old books and papers and everything that went along with them, was familiar with. Still, it would be slow going. Which Jack undoubtedly knew.

"1.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again," Ianto essayed on the paper, each letter painstakingly and perfectly formed.

He was acutely aware of Jack's intense gaze and of the sounds all around him--the hum of Jack's outdated printer that he refused to part with, the scratch of the quill, his own breathing (a bit ragged); even his own heartbeat, which seemed too fast and too loud.

"2.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."  
"3.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."  
"4.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."

After a few lines, Ianto's mind settled down as his hand took over. Nothing like a monotonous but exacting task to focus one's thoughts. A few more lines and he could almost forget that he was over-exposed and acutely observed.

Things went well until Jack, with another screech of metal on tile, stood up and Ianto froze. Though it was really tempting to turn his head to check what Jack was doing, Ianto knew better. He kept his eyes focused on the desk until he got his breathing back under control and his hand unclenched around the quill enough to continue.

"15.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."  
"16.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."

Sound of footsteps. Rustle of khaki trousers. Jack was coming up behind him.

"17.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."  
"18.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."  
"19.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or..."

Ianto pressed on in admirable fashion until Jack put a hand on his shoulder. Then he startled--his nerves were wound so tight he couldn't help it--and an ugly splotch of ink spilled out of the pen and onto the paper.

"Tsk, tsk, Ianto," Jack chided, reaching over the younger man's shoulder. He picked up the soiled paper, crumpled it in his fist, and tossed it on the floor.

"Again."

Ianto reached for another piece of parchment and began again, studiously ignoring the piece of paper on the floor, his powerful urge to pick it up, and the fact that Jack was still right behind him.

"1.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."

He had braced himself this time and so didn't flinch when Jack touched his shoulder again. He also didn't flinch when Jack trailed his fingers across his skin from one shoulder blade to the other, though the feather-light touch caused him to break out in goose-bumps all over. He didn't even flinch when Jack's fingers slid up the side of his neck, though his breath hitched and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stay in control.

"7.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."  
"8.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."

He lost it, however, when Jack ran his fingers over the shell of his ear and then took the earlobe between his fingers and squeezed. It was one of Ianto's erogenous zones and Jack damn well knew it.

Ianto crumpled up the second piece of paper himself.

He did not throw it on floor, but placed it to the side of the desk, out of the way, while trying his best to ignore Jack chuckling behind him.

Ianto could not suppress a groan as he took up the third piece of parchment. This exercise was going to take awhile. As Jack's touch was turning him on more than he would have ever imagined given the circumstances, that thought was frustrating in more ways than one.

Ianto's hyper-alert ears picked up the sound of Jack taking a step back as he started over.  
.  
.  
.  
"24.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."  
"25.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."

Ianto was pleased with his progress, though he couldn't help but wonder what Jack was up to behind him. By the sound (or lack thereof) of it, he was doing nothing but watching. 'And trying to make me a nervous wreck. Well, it won't work.' Ianto grit his teeth and continued on.  
.  
.  
.  
"50.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."

Ianto allowed himself a small smile at getting 1/10th of the way through the exercise, though his hand was starting to cramp. He paused to shake it out, and that's when Jack made his move.

The Captain swooped forward and dropped to his knees beside Ianto, and before Ianto could react, he had seized Ianto's cock in his hands and sank his mouth down on it.

Ianto yelped and jumped, the result being that he not only smeared so much ink onto the paper that it was illegible, but he also kneed the table so hard that parchment went flying and the inkwell toppled over, spilling ink everywhere.

Oblivious, Jack carried on, taking Ianto in from tip to root and then sliding up again. He looked up with just the tip of Ianto's cock in his mouth, and gave Ianto a look that was part mischievous, part lecherous--and pure pornography.

 _'Oh, god...'_ Ianto closed his eyes and let his head fell back, not much caring anymore about writing lines.

With practiced ease, Jack soon had Ianto writhing in the chair (and splinters be damned).

"Please... oh, please," Ianto moaned.

Somewhere deep in his delirious mind he realized that he'd left out the "sir" but Jack didn't seem to mind, for he never lost his rhythm, which was relentless.

A few minutes of Jack's expert ravishing of the most sensitive part of Ianto's anatomy had Ianto's thighs trembling and his hips rocking in counterpoint with Jack's motions. He was getting close.

"I... I...."

Jack redoubled his efforts.

"O duw! I..."

Ianto came with a hoarse cry, his hips lifting right off the chair. Jack obliged him by sliding one broad hand under his arse to support him, and not removing his mouth until he was sure Ianto was finished. Then he gave one of Ianto's cheeks a pinch and let go.

Spent, Ianto flopped back down on the chair, which creaked alarmingly, but held.

Jack wiped his mouth and stood, drinking in the sight of his drained (in more ways than one) assistant slumped on the chair. Ianto gazed back through unfocussed eyes. He licked his lips as if to speak but nothing came out. It was probably just as well. He prided himself on being well-spoken and at the moment he didn't trust himself to put two words together. But god, he felt good.

Jack's mouth quirked into a smile which disappeared as quickly as it had come. Without a word, he turned on his heel and left.

Dazed, Ianto lifted his head to stare after him. Jack was leaving? Had he done something wrong? It took a moment, but the truth finally surfaced in Ianto's serotonin-swamped brain. Jack hadn't spoken. Jack hadn't held him. Jack was still in character.

The game wasn't over.

Ianto swallowed and, with effort, shoved himself upright in the chair. He faced the desk and uttered an entirely different groan.

The desk was chaos. Ink was everywhere, even dripping onto the floor. Ianto leaned over to scoop up the inkwell and as much paper as he could. Maybe he could use the soiled parchment to clean the desk and then...

Jack's voice from the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Do I have to remind you that you're not to leave until you finish here?"

"N... no, sir." Ianto's voice was low, and shakier than he would have liked.

"Oh, and Ianto?"

There was an expectant pause. Ianto turned to face Jack. Gorgeous Jack, looking as cool and collected as ever, blue eyes sparkling but jaw still set in his best unyielding manner.

"For ruining all that irreplaceable parchment, and making a mess of my table, and wasting ink-- make it 1,000 lines."

And with that, he was gone.

Ianto put his head in his hands.

 

However, the young Welshman was both resilient and efficient. Though this task would probably take most of the night (less now that Jack wasn't there to interrupt), he'd pulled all-nighters before and besides, he felt too blissed out to care.

Maybe Jack would come back. If not, he'd have the satisfaction of handing him one thousand perfectly-scripted lines in the morning. The look on Jack's face would be worth it. And while he was writing, he could use the time to think of what their next game would be. Something he would be in charge of for a change. He was sure he could come up with something good. And by "good", he meant "unexpected". Even "wicked".

 _'I learned from the best after all,'_ Ianto thought, lips twitching into a devilish little smile that he quickly wiped off his face. Jack might be watching on the CCTV. It wouldn't do to look like he was enjoying himself.

Ianto cleared up the mess, and sat back down at the little desk. He picked up the quill and dipped it in the remaining ink.

"1.) I will never disobey my Captain's orders or go behind his back again."


End file.
